Not Quite a Second Time
by Penguin's Flight
Summary: Time travel, slightly more competent than average unspeakables, and Lumione tragedy


**Fair warning...the ending isn't happy, but even I wasn't attached enough to the characters to care much. I'm pretty sure that means I have to apologize for this story, but it's complete and I'm happy about that so I'm posting it anyways.**

 **If there's any really painful/obvious mistakes, please let me know so that I can fix them. I hope someone enjoys it, if only because it's terrible! Reviews, good and bad, are always welcomed and appreciated! Obviously I don't own any of the characters etc.**

A warm, flickering yellow glow filled the room from small candles that floated above their heads, with the wax charmed not to drip on unsuspecting guests. A pity because, in a lot of cases, it would have held a certain amount of comedic value, along with serving well deserved justice.

The atmosphere was decidedly festive, and with amazing christmas music, trays charmed to circulate a variety of delicious, ornamental goodies, and a steady flow of mead, butterbeer, and firewhiskey (for those who appeared old enough for it). There was a general attitude of goodwill. Of course, that attitude could not extend to all guests in attendance.

A cursory glance around the room would reveal a self conscious, greasy little boy staring out at the crowd with what could only be described as longing. His sallow skin, long, pointed nose, and tendril-like locks of hair seemed to banish him to the corner. It was really only enforced, then, by the scruffy, ill fitting dress robes he wore.

On another side of the room, a man appeared as quite the opposite of the little boy. He exuded arrogance, which was, no doubt, meant to be accepted as confidence. His long blonde hair cascaded over his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his impeccable black dress robes. This one was tall, handsome, and sought out, but despite the fact that he was surrounded by people, even a not-so-keen observer would notice that he looked positively miserable. There wasn't an ounce of happiness in his countenance, affected or genuine.

There was a third to whom the term unhappy could be applied to. Another student, like the little boy, but considerably older. She looked miserable, and her eyes constantly flickered towards the door apparently counting down the minutes until she could politely make her escape.

Ever the consummate host, Professor Horace Slughorn had not failed to notice these three particular guests. Horace had tried his hand at matchmaking a few times, and although Minerva looked on with a disapproving frown each time he set up a couple, it had yet to end badly.

This time though, it was a bit more of a stretch. He _really_ wasn't sure it was a good idea, but it had been a tedious evening so far. Both guests looked like they were having a bad time anyway, so perhaps...just a slight push in the right direction couldn't hurt. Nothing direct...just an excuse to speak to each other. If it didn't work, well then he'd blame the mead.

"Lucius, my boy," he said, jovially approaching the blond boy, who seemed to be torn between relief at his current conversation ending, and dread at a new one beginning.

When Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder, Lucius felt himself jolted. The younger man leaned on his walking stick, barely concealing a wince as a wave of pain shot up his leg.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone," the portly old man said, oblivious to the damage he'd done.

Lucius could have groaned at the idea of meeting yet another man just like his father, sizing him up for his wealth and worth as a pawn in some sort of power trip. When instead of being dragged along to someone Sluggy had deemed would be of use to him, he was surprised to find himself in front of a poorly dressed child, who looked ready to bolt at any moment.

The dark haired boy mumbled something under his breath, and Lucius had no idea how he was supposed to decipher what was said. "Pardon me?" he drawled, hoping the second round of whatever the boy said would be clearer.

"It's nice to meet you," Severus said, looking at the floor and spending decidedly little effort acknowledging his former house mate. When he pictured the former Slytherin Prefect, the only image he could conjure was of him with the quidditch team, strutting around the dungeons as though they owned them, and paying absolutely no mind to the lost little half-blood Slytherin.

Lucius tried to make conversation, he really did. He gave it his all. He even brought up quidditch, despite the lurch he couldn't help but feel every time he did.

"I'm not sure why boys always think talking about quidditch will endear everyone in the vicinity to them, there's no need to look so disappointed," a voice cut in, and he was taken aback when the girl rolled her eyes at him.

When did people openly roll their eyes at him? He knew they did so frequently behind his back, but this was new. Her light yellow dress robes flattered her figure, even if the colour looked ghastly on her, and her hair frizzed out of the style she'd arranged it into. He still couldn't help but decide she looked...nice, if a little unconventional.

"What else am I supposed to speak of to a stranger?" he asked, looking at her with genuine curiosity.

"Well," she started, jerking her head to the younger boy, "since you could ask anyone in the school and they would tell you that Severus Snape is the most talented potions student this place has seen since it's conception, my guess would be potions. Unless, of course, you're rubbish with potions...in which case, better not."

The boy, Severus, blushed a deep crimson, but turned up a small smile at the girl, one that she returned. "I'm Jane Dagworth," she said, to both of them.

"Lucius Malfoy," he drawled, taking her hand and placing a kiss on it. He was surprised she looked surprised.

The sudden urge to ask her to dance was quickly stifled when he remembered he couldn't. Humiliation hit him hard, recalling everything he could no longer do, remembering his last attempt to dance at his mother's birthday, and the fool he'd made himself out to be.

Instead, catching the younger boy's desire to join the other couples on the dance floor, and finding himself certain she wouldn't object, although he couldn't quite place the reason, he nudged him. Two coal black eyes looked up at him, with thick eyebrows frowning over them. When Jane turned her head, he gestured towards her, then towards the dance floor.

Frantically, he shook his head, eyes bulging in mortification at asking the seventh year to dance. Lucius just shrugged.

"Sev!" A girl cried out, extricating herself from a group of giggling girls and making her way to their small group. The boy blushed brighter still, and Lucius found himself oddly charmed by the two young kids. "Come dance with me," she ordered, and his blush deepened further still.

Wrapping a hand around his arm, she dragged him to the dance floor, and Lucius turned to Jane. "I thought to help you secure a dance partner, but it appears he's already taken."

She glared at him, "and I suppose you consider yourself above such a vulgar practice?"

She spoke with a lot more bite than she'd intended, and bit down on her lip in regret the moment the words were out of her mouth. It was clear there hadn't been any malice in his statement, now that she let it sink in for a moment. He looked like he was in mourning, and she felt guilty wondering what nerve she'd inadvertently touched. Still, an apology was a far greater battering than her pride was willing to take for the sake of Lucius Malfoy.

"They're really cute," she said, smiling slightly at Snape and Evans, who twirled awkwardly around the dance floor. The little boy looked like she'd hung the moon, while the girl just seemed to relish in the time with her friend. Lucius nodded, also smiling slightly at the sight.

The two of them fell silent for several minutes, while he tried to think of something to say, and she tried to think of a way to leave. Finally, he'd settled on school being a safe subject, but he turned back to look at her and felt awful.

She looked intensely miserable, her eyes looking between the host and the door. He couldn't help but feel something pulling at his heartstrings seeing the expression that embodied how he felt every time he was sent off to one of these events. "You know, if you want to escape...I can tell Slughorn you weren't feeling well."

"Please," she said, with such an earnest expression he couldn't but smile at her, and she blushed almost as dark as Severus.

"Not that...I'm not enjoying your company," she added, little more than a mumble as she worked at dig herself out of the hole she's made.

He laughed, startling them both, "It isn't a problem, Jane," he smiled reassuringly, "really."

"Goodnight," she said, a little stiffly, finally running away for the night. Relief crashed down on her as she stepped out through the door. She'd somehow survived Slughorn's Christmas party. Only every other major holiday left to go, she suspected, suppressing a shudder.

Hermione was dearly looking forward to hiding in her room and ignoring the pounding headache she'd gotten trying to think how Snape fit into her past. Three months she'd been in the seventies now, feeling like she'd been spun until she couldn't see straight. Of course, she could remember Lucius Malfoy. She could remember Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and sometimes the faint recollection that at least one of the Lestrange brothers had been a Death Eater.

Whatever she wanted or hoped, she couldn't even consider playing with time. It had its own agenda, not to mention she she couldn't even properly remember what her original 'time' was. The larger strokes of her life were fine. She could still picture the triwizard tournament, right up until the end when tragedy hit and one of the competitors wound up dead. It was hazy around that part, and if she concentrated on it too long, she got a headache instead of answers.

She could remember the Department of Mysteries, and Lucius Malfoy confronting them there. That was too important of a night for it to be taken completely from her, though she was left with the vague feeling that something _tragic_ had happened that she couldn't recall. She pictured Harry's devastation, but not its cause.

Their year on the run...looking for something that was just on the tip of her tongue, but seemingly forever out of reach. Researching and reading about something, in unnamed books.

The final battle, but none of the casualties. She had no idea if her friends had survived, although she was almost sure they won.

It was enough to drive a person mad, especially since she didn't even know if those things would happen now.

Did she destroy that entire timeline, was her existence here and now really the only one? She could hear the unspeakables, lecturing her that the only thing she could and needed to do was live her life, interacting as naturally as she could with those around her.

Par of her also wondered if she'd died. Maybe this was all just some bizarre form of an afterlife.

"How was the Slug-Club?" Allie asked, poking her head out of the bathroom adjoining their dorm when she heard her come on.

"Awful," Hermione said primly, barely repressing a shudder at the memory of the awkward evening she'd spent.

"Hmm," the girl hummed, "I feel like it goes against my nature to say this, but for once I'm glad that I'm too stupid in potions for Slughorn to take me seriously. Connections are great and all...but making them is also the absolute _worst_."

Hermione tended to agree. She moved over to the half open door, watching her roommate charming her hair into something she'd seen her mother wear in old pictures. "The _absolute_ worst," she echoed in agreement, "did you finish Professor Flitwick's essay yet?"

"No…" the girl shook her head, "I worked on it most of the evening though. I couldn't find anything to supplement what we'd learned in class for the longest time. I left the book I _finally_ did find on your bedside table though… marked the page."

Hermione grinned, "I'll return the favour sometime, I promise."

Allie nodded vehemently, "I expect you to. _Potions_ ," she said, with an exaggerated shudder, "Sweet Circe, I hate that class. I don't know why I'm bothering with a NEWT."

"It's because you're an overachiever," Hermione teased.

The girl pursed her lips in the mirror, ignoring her comment, and angling her head in different ways, "well, this is good enough for Danny."

Hermione grinned at her friend, "have fun," she said, moving towards her bed to pick up the book and work on her essay.

"Oh, I will," Allie said, turning and winking at her before rushing out of the dorm to meet her boyfriend on the grounds.

Hermione shook her head fondly, relieved to have found someone in the past she actually liked. Allie was her rock since she'd crashed back in time to the seventies, and was jostled to Hogwarts after a few weeks in the department of mysteries answering Time Room Unspeakbles' questions.

"Finished with Slughorn's party already?" Marianne, another roommate said, just walking in and crashing down onto her own bed.

"Yup," Hermione said, popping the word and leaving the girl in no question what she'd thought about the whole thing. With a light chuckle, the other girl shook her head.

"Next time though, you've got to promise to let me live vicariously through you."

"Never," Hermione said, laughing a little as she looked up from her essay, "I'm sincerely _considering_ _hoping_ that my next potion will be so bad Slughorn will forget all about me."

"Impossible, Dagworth," Marianne said, "nice little pureblood name. Slughorn will never let you go, knowing you aren't inept and some relative, even if he is distant and estranged, is a famous potions master."

Hermione's smile faltered. It was for her own protection, the muggle-born unspeakable had said when setting up her new identity, but it felt like taking the easy way out. The woman had reminded her that there was no easy way out when time travelling through decades, but it still didn't sit well with her.

"Well," Hermione said, raising her glass of water in a mock toast, "here's to hope."

* * *

Valentine's day came sooner than she thought it would, and she was dressed in the same light yellow dress robes, this time with an orange headband stuck across her forehead. It was courtesy of Marianne, in what seemed to be an attempt to make the frizziness of her hair look like it was on purpose. Personally, she didn't think the whole outfit did her any favours.

She slunk through the hallways towards the party, not entirely sure why she was bothering to go again. Right, she told herself, it was because she was done her work and had absolutely nothing better to do since Allie was with Danny tonight.

"Miss Dagworth!" Slughorn called when he saw her, she got the feeling he'd already indulged in a little more to drink than was advisable when he waved at her. She forced a smile, and then slunked back to her corner, snatching a lemon tart off of one of the floating trays on her way there.

The room was decorated in garish pink things, and she wondered if they were charmed to do anything worse if someone tied to vanish them.

"They probably are," a voice drawled from next to her, and she was surprised to see Lucius Malfoy shove a glass of something into her hand.

"Are what?" she asked, curious.

"Charmed to do something if you try and vanish them," he gestured towards the little floating hearts with his drink. She noticed for the first time the grip he kept on his walking stick, she'd always assumed it was for show.

"Dumbledore's taste though, more than Slughorn," he added, sneering at the thought of the Headmaster. Hermione wanted to protest, but he was probably right.

"Do you really have no one better to talk to than me?" she asked, wanting to get rid of him, and debating if she should drink out of a glass he'd given her.

He looked offended, and she winced, remembering yet again that he hadn't done anything to offend her _yet_ in this timeline.

"You look astoundingly muggle," he said, gesturing to her hair.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. It didn't actually seem like he meant it to be the terribly offensive thing that she assumed he should mean it as.

"My roommate did my hair. It looks ridiculous," she said, "but it always does, so I figured at least one person would be happy."

"You look beautiful," he smiled at her, looking somewhat regretful, "I would ask you to dance," he said, "but my leg still bothers me and I would humiliate us both."

Hermione frowned at him, oddly relieved that it was an experience she wouldn't have to endure. Talking to Lucius Malfoy made her stomach turn enough as it was, without having to touch him. Still, curiosity got the best of her and she heard herself ask what happened.

"Quidditch," he said, pressing his lips together into a thin line, clearly wanting to say nothing more about it. She resolved to ask Allie when she got back to her dorm.

"So," he asked after a bit of silence, "what brings you here a second time? I wasn't under the impression you enjoyed this."

"My roommates reminded me that making connections was important," she said, then grimaced, "but I can't bring myself to do it,"

He looked at her curiously, "what do you want to do once you finish school?"

"Arithmancy," she answered, without hesitation, "it's fascinating, and I want to do a Mastery in it...but I don't know any masters and I've had several...differences of opinion with Professor Vector."

Lucius offered his arm to her, and hiding her reluctance, she took it. There had to be a polite way to refuse. She would brainstorm that _for sure_ with Allie and Miranda when she got back to her dorm.

"That man there," he pointed at a man in his early thirties, with long red hair, across the room, "is Captain of the Falmouth Falcons, his twin brother is an arithmancy master. The two of them are quite close."

"Lucius," the man said jovially when they approached, suddenly ignoring the boy he'd been talking to like he was unimportant, "how are you these days? Our new chaser…"

They both winced, "you were better. Still sorry it didn't work out."

"I am too," he said after a few seconds of silence.

"Your father says it was a blessing in disguise, and that this way you'll have more time to focus on what's important."

"I think my father is deluded in that assessment," he said quietly, looking slightly perturbed. The red haired man nodded sympathetically.

"Fabian, this is Jane Dagworth," he said, nodding to Hermione and abruptly changing the subject, "she, for reasons unknown, is interested in arithmancy."

The man smiled in a good natured way at Lucius, then at Hermione, "and I take it this one told you about my brother?" She nodded uncomfortably, fairly certain that it was a far more direct approach than you were supposed to take when meeting new people. He grinned even more broadly at her discomfort, "don't worry dear, my brother and I were Gryffindors...Lucius knows we need a direct approach with these things," he pursed his lips for a few moments, "my Aunt Muriel's birthday is in a couple of Saturdays. If you can get a pass to leave Hogwarts, Lucius should bring you along and introduce you to Gideon."

"Fair warning if you're actually interested," Lucius muttered, "Muriel is awful."

"You aren't allowed to curse her...or my brother-in-law, Malfoy," the redhead snickered, causing Lucius to roll his eyes again.

"Your sister lost all sense and perspective when she eloped with that man," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Well…" he said, "you won't hear me say otherwise, but you know what our sister's always been like."

"Insane?" Lucius asked.

Fabian turned to Hermione, grinning at her in a way that reminded her uncomfortable of Fred or George, "she thought he was a little girl in his first year at Hogwarts. Lulu's never quite forgiven her."

Hermione let out a surprised laugh, wondering what universe she'd fallen into that Lucius Malfoy was on friendly, speaking terms with a Gryffindor. The three fell into slightly stilted conversation, until Slughorn came back and stole the red haired man away to introduce him to "the best seeker the school had ever seen."

"How do you know him?" Hermione asked.

"I was training with the Falcons for a couple months."

"Oh," Hermione said, trying hard to reconcile the man she'd seen a few times in her future as an aspiring quidditch player.

"In any case, I didn't mean to corner you into going to Muriel's birthday. It really will be awful," he grimaced, "but I would be," he considered the word for a moment, "honoured if you accompanied me."

He watched a wave of emotions crossing her face, and wondered why he was even making an effort. She was pretty, and he liked her...but she clearly didn't like him much. Not that most girls liked him much. He cringed slightly, sort of wishing he could withdraw the invitation before she rejected him.

"You've painted such a glowing picture of it," she said at last, "I suppose I can't say no."

"I'll owl you the details," he said, "and Dumbledore hates me, but he likes Fabian and Muriel...so make sure you mention their names when asking for the pass."

"Come on Snivellus, you really think Lily wants to dance with you? She just feels sorry for you."

Hermione recognized that voice too well, it ripped through her each time she heard it in the halls. It was Harry's voice, but dipped in malice and arrogance. James Potter was a kid she generally tried to avoid, but hearing those words…

She noticed Lucius had turned towards the voice as well, and both their eyes simultaneously fell to little Severus Snape. In unspoken agreement, the two walked towards them. "Severus," he said, "Jane and I have been looking for you, why don't you come have a drink with us?"

"I'm just gonna go back to my dorm," he muttered, slinking off and out of the party.

"My father told me all about your family," Potter said, puffing out his chest proudly, "you're all a bunch of Dark Arts fanatics, and you hate muggle-borns...no wonder you're defending that creepy kid."

"You're a real piece of work, Potter," Hermione finally snapped. It was only a matter of time, but she still didn't understand how those words had come out of her mouth. She looked at little James and couldn't help seeing Harry, until he opened his mouth and she saw Draco instead. Horrible twist of fate, she thought with a shudder.

"If cursing children didn't mean I'd hit rock bottom over the past year…" he muttered under his breath.

"Lucius, my boy," Slughorn interrupted, before the conflict got out of hand, "I was hoping to introduce you to someone…"

Slughorn was alarmed when he heard the altercation with young Severus and the Potter boy. It was dangerously close to political, and it just wouldn't do for them to get into political discussions yet. If they did, he was certain things wouldn't work out in any favourable way.

Hermione stayed for another twenty minutes, making small talk with a witch whose name she forgot seconds after she'd been told. It wasn't the worst thing she'd experienced...that was hands down waking up sometime in the 70s after everything she'd gone through during the second war, then being told she was stuck there, doomed to relive it and more.

When she had to stifle a yawn for the sixth time, she made her excuses and finally walked back to her dorm. The castle was mostly empty, and walking back to Ravenclaw tower, it was difficult not to see the war ravaged hallways and bodies lining it. It was one of the only times she was grateful that it was all blurry, and that she could never quite picture the faces of the fallen.

After trudging up the spiral staircase, her feet cold from the sandals Miranda insisted she wear, despite not being seasonally appropriate. She stared at the eagle door knocker.

"An easy one for you, tonight, my dear. What doesn't exist, but has a name?"

Hermione blinked at the thing, wondering if it would open if she asked it nicely enough. On some days, she thought the entrance system was wonderful...times like this one, with the very real threat of her sleeping in the stairwell, she had other ideas about it. She muttered a string of expletives under her breath.

"What was that?" the eagle asked, almost amused by her reaction.

"Nothing," she hissed back, glaring hard at the bird.

"Accidental," it said after another moment, "but a correct answer nonetheless. You may enter, Miss Dagworth," the eagle said, and the door swung open to allow her passage. She threw her head back, barely suppressing a groan as she crossed the threshold.

A few students still littered the common room, flipping through books or chatting quietly. Hermione smiled and nodded at the sixth year boy she sat next to in NEWT arithmancy, and at the fifth year girl snuggled into his side who she occasionally helped with transfigurations.

When she finally made it to her dorm, Miranda, Allie and Emmeline were sitting on pillows on the floor, surrounding a pile of candy and what looked like a bucket of butterbeer.

"Join us, Dagworth!" Emmeline smiled, chucking a chocolate frog package at Hermione. She fumbled with it, but caught it.

"Impressed," Allie teased, "too bad we won't be here next year, you could have made seeker."

"If only I could ride a broom without wanting to throw up," Hermione said, grabbing her own pillow before plunking down with the girls, "unfortunately, my dreams are crushed."

"So, how was the party?" Miranda asked, finishing the last sip of her drink, and then magically siphoning more butterbeer into the cup. Hermione shrugged, grabbing her own glass and filling it up.

"What's the deal with Lucius Malfoy?" she asked.

"He graduated a year ago," Allie said, "liked quidditch way too much. It was obnoxious...but he was really good. He'd been recruited to play for the Falcons. Then one of the seventh year Gryffindor muggle-borns took issue with his father's politics and wrecked his knee. The other Gryffindors treated the guy like a god after that...especially since they won the cup, but I think the rest of us were a little choked."

Miranda nodded, "I mean, none of us actually _liked_ him," she added, "he was arrogant and didn't really bother with friends. He was just sort of a school fixture, you know? James Potter's an annoying little twerp, Hufflepuffs are a lot of freak weeds, Dumbledore is completely barmy, and Malfoy loves Quidditch."

Hermione nodded, "interesting," she said, busying herself with another drink of butterbeer.

"Why the interest?" asked Emmeline. Her eyebrows were raised, and Hermione wasn't appreciating the implications.

"No _interest_ ," she answered, with a roll of her eyes, "I was just talking to him for a bit at the party."

"You know," Allie said, pursing her lips, "he's not a bad looking guy," she smiled, "objectively speaking."

Emmeline scrunched her nose, "if you didn't spend years going to school with him. He really had something to prove, you know? I don't know if it was his father or what, I guess Abraxas is a pretty scary dude."

Hermione frowned, remembering the department of mysteries, remembering his desperation to hand her, Ron, and Harry over to Voldemort. There had to be more that she knew about him. She tried to think of what had happened to him during the first war, what the Order had told her about him. Her memory was frustratingly blank.

She looked over at the three girls she was sitting with. Shuffling, she re-adjusted her pillow and laid her head back against the bed. She'd been warned she couldn't try and change anything, that she merely had to exist and interact with the people around her in the most natural way she could.

"Lighten up, Dagworth," Miranda said, reaching over and nudging Hermione's arm, "we promise we won't make fun of Malfoy if you see more of him."

"Not going to happen," Hermione said.

Allie rolled her eyes, "Anyway...I was in Hogsmeade and you will _never_ guess who Pamela was with."

"Who?" Miranda humored her.

"She was with _Terence Goyle_ ," she wrinkled her nose, "can you just imagine? I nearly threw up. I really did." Hermione scrunched up her own nose on cue, laughing slightly with the other girls, happy for the distraction.

* * *

Hermione sat at the prettily laid out dinner table, enjoying the wine that went along with her meal just a little bit more than she should. It wasn't even a holiday, but somehow she found herself stuffed into Slughorn's overly giant office, sitting between Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.

"Muriel loved you," Lucius said, amused as he watched the girl go for her fifth long sip of wine in the last two minutes, "skinny ankles," he affected the raspy voice of the Prewett matron, "but otherwise a lovely girl. Her breeding really does show," Hermione smiled slightly at his mimicry, amused despite herself.

He'd been right, the woman was positively awful, an opinion she cemented after meeting her young protegee, Rita Skeeter. She didn't have a problem remembering the nasty articles that awful woman wrote about her, but there was something missing from that history as well. Something she knew she wanted to remember, because she _did_ recall feeling absolute glee when she'd worked it out the first time.

"Thanks for bringing me to the party," she said, a soft smile this time when she looked at the older boy, "Gideon offered to look over some of my work and give me some feedback, he's already written back with his notes on some of the work I'd done."

Lucius smiled back, "I'm glad it was worth it...and," he added hesitantly, "I enjoyed spending time with you."

They fell into a silence, listening to one of Professor Slughorn's stories about a particularly inept student. She looked over to see that Severus was relishing it, and a small, malicious smile had crept across his face while Potter scowled across the table. She figured, if circumstances were different, she'd feel bad for the student Slughorn was making fun of, but as it was, she sort of thought the kid deserved it.

"Well," she said quietly, "which one is it? The scruffy one or the mousy one?" He looked startled by her question, but then smiled a little more genuinely when he saw her conspiratorial look.

"The mousy one," he said, "he's absolutely useless, probably because he spends the entire time trying to impress Potter and Black."

Hermione looked across the table, where Potter was still sulking, and she frowned a little bit.

"Is everything alright, Jane?" Lucius asked, reaching over to touch her shoulder.

The contact startled her, and she twitched away, frowning even deeper when she saw that Malfoy _definitely_ looked hurt by her reaction. She thought to reach over and grab his hand, assure him that it wasn't anything he'd done, but she pictured him again in the department of mysteries and figured she could hardly tell him he hadn't done anything, she was just repulsed by all of who he was.

She could feel her insides curdle when she thought about how he'd kissed her, and worse, how she'd kissed him back. It was a lovely evening, when they were far away from Muriel, and she'd honestly forgotten to hate him...he'd made it easy to.

"Everything is fine, Lucius," she said, moving back to her meal. Determined to put some distance between them, she made a point of brushing off his every subsequent attempt at conversation.

It was frustrating, to look at the Potter boy and his friends and know that she was missing something important. To know that she'd known more about the story there, but not know just how much. Were they all members of the Order? Did they all die?

She knew Potter and whoever his future wife was didn't make it. Her money was currently on Marlene McKinnon, and she felt guilty each time she saw the young girl. It felt like she was wishing death on her. Someone betrayed them, she could also remember. She couldn't be sure if it was Lupin, Pettigrew, or Sirius...and she couldn't help that the result was her hating them all.

"You don't have to be so rude to Malfoy," a surly voice said from next to her after the dinner ended, on her way back to Ravenclaw tower. She looked over at Snape, stunned that he'd said anything, "he's annoying and all, but he's been pretty decent to you from what I can tell."

Hermione was quiet, looking at Snape from the corner of her eye. She almost smiled at the thought that he cared enough about her to give her relationship advice. She gave him a slight nod before walking away, wondering whose side of the war he'd really been on. So much of her time at Hogwarts had been spent trusting and then mistrusting him in turns that she didn't have a clue what to believe now that the final answer was erased.

"Night, Snape," she said, when they parted ways a few steps later. He nodded sharply, picking up the pace as he rounded the corner towards the dungeons.

"You alright, Dagworth?" she heard Emmeline's voice, then her steps echoe as the girl caught up to her near the tower.

"Yeah," she shrugged, "just...confused about Malfoy. It was pointed out that I was acting like a bit of a tosser."

"Look," Emmeline said carefully, "for what it's worth, I can see why you don't want to get involved with him. His father is part of a pretty extreme political group. You have to remember that he's not Abraxas, though."

"But if his father's involved, he'll probably get involved too," Hermione insisted.

"That's...not _wrong_ , Dagworth, but he might not. None of us know the future."

Hermione looked at her friend, eyebrows raised skeptically, "I can hardly picture him picketing outside the ministry with a muggle-born wife, demanding equal rights for all."

"Of course not," Emmeline said, rolling her eyes, "With his family, I'm not saying Lucius Malfoy would even consider marrying a muggle-born, even a half-blood… but _hell_ , I wouldn't either. That doesn't mean Miranda isn't a great friend, or that I think she doesn't deserve rights!"

Hermione looked at her roommate and frowned, "you're saying you wouldn't marry someone because of their blood status?"

"Can you imagine what our kids would have to put up with being half-bloods? I'm not saying they aren't great people...but come on Dagworth, you know how the world works," she frowned at Hermione, "but you're missing the point. Just because Abraxas is insane doesn't mean his son is, and it's not fair to him that you're taking out your distrust of Abraxas on him."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, "but it is fair that you'd hold someone having muggle parents against them when considering a relationship?" she asked, glaring at her friend, "Please, Vance, think of our children. I would never want them to grow up with those people as role models."

"Come on, Dagworth," Emmeline said, rolling her eyes, "you know that's not what I meant. And don't be naive."

"Don't talk to me right now," Hermione said with a sigh as the two girls walked into the dorm.

Allie looked up from her book, then her eyes flicked between the two girls, "is everything alright?" she asked, her voice slightly hesitant as she tried to discern how serious the conflict was.

"Would you marry a muggle-born?" Hermione asked, relieved Miranda wasn't back yet.

She was met with silence, but held her friend's eyes until Allie finally opened her mouth, "How could I ask someone to sit through angry family dinners full of blatant insults? If my parents didn't do worse, which I couldn't guarantee."

Hermione looked like she was about to cry, and Allie tilted her face slightly, "if I met someone who made me rethink that? Sure. If my kid wants to date a muggle-born one day, all the power to them...I just hope the world will be a little more open to it by then." Hermione nodded, "what's this about, Jane?"

"Nothing," she said, crashing onto her bed, and staring up at the ceiling, enchanted to look like a clear night time sky.

"It's about Malfoy," Emmeline said.

"Shut up, Vance," Hermione snapped, turning towards her to glare, "you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Whatever," she responded, "there's no need to be snippy."

"Girls!" Allie said, "go to sleep, this is a stupid argument to have right now. We're all tired. Just...go to sleep."

"Goodnight," Hermione huffed out.

"Yeah," Emmeline grumbled, "bloody _creatures_ class first thing tomorrow. "

* * *

"Slughorn is having another dinner tomorrow night," Hermione said, looking at Allie with pleading eyes.

"So?" the girl asked, genuinely puzzled with her friend's behaviour, "you did not enjoy the last few, if I recall."

"I may regret the way I treated Malfoy," she said, half waiting for the castle to crumble on her now that she'd admitted it. She felt bad, he'd been nice to her, the Prewett twins liked him, he'd done absolutely nothing to deserve her censure. She liked him so far, especially when she let herself. His letters were funny, and nice, and _this_ was why the Unspeakables had messed with her mind. For all she knew, time was already altered and holding Lucius to a previous timeline was an absolutely worthless endeavour, not to mention potentially disastrous. For all she knew, she was Draco Malfoy's mother, although if she did give birth to a little blond haired boy, she promised herself she'd make sure he was better behaved.

She hated time travel, but she hated that her mind was tampered with even more. She could already feel a headache coming on, thinking of future Lucius and Malfoys to come.

"What is wrong with you?" Allie asked, looking at her friend with some amount of genuine disgust, "you had months to decide you liked him. He sent you owls, and took you to Muriel Prewett's party, he kissed you and then sent you flowers, then sent you more owls even after you were awful the next time you saw him, _which you ignored_ , and after he finally gives up, now you care?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted, "I promise...I'm not usually like this."

Allie rolled her eyes, "fine, we can apparate to Diagon Alley and get you some decent dress robes tomorrow morning. Just make sure you _apologize_ , for Merlin's sake."

"Of course," Hermione said, looking somewhat affronted.

"Jane," Allie looked at her seriously, " _I may have not been right..._ " she said, "that is _not_ an apology."

"I know that," Hermione huffed.

"Go to sleep, Dagworth," Emmeline groaned, "and don't think Miranda and I aren't coming shopping with you too."

"Goodnight," Hermione said. She still felt a twinge of annoyance seeing the two friends after her and Vance's argument a month and a half ago. Good enough to be friends with, never to marry, seemed to be Emmeline's motto. It irked her.

The next morning came quickly after the conversation ended, and Hermione pulled herself out of bed with a twisting knot in her stomach at the thought of seeing Malfoy again after ignoring him for weeks. She'd been thinking of sending him an owl for a few days, but somehow she couldn't work up the courage to do so. She was taking it as proof that she'd been adjusting to her new house (even if the thought was absurd).

"How much you spending, Dagworth?" Emmeline asked, casting a look at Madam Malkin's.

"Not enough to go to Twilfitt and Tattings," she responded, walking towards the shop.

They found some periwinkle robes that suited Hermione wonderfully, and once the purchase was wrapped up, they didn't waste time to apparate back to Hogsmeade, and walk to the castle.

Hermione put them on again in another hour, examining herself nervously in the mirror, "are you sure…"

"Yes," Miranda said, rolling her eyes, "the robes look fine. Now be quiet so that Emmeline can do your makeup."

She looked pretty, she decided, when she looked at herself in the mirror. It didn't give her the confidence she'd been hoping for, instead, more than ever, she wondered if she could hide in her dorm room. She wasn't even sure why she cared about the whole thing, it wasn't like she actually liked Malfoy. She pictured him at the Manor again, begging Draco to identify them, and repressed a shudder.

"Get out of here, Jane," Allie said, apparently sensing her nervousness, "you look great, Malfoy will forgive you...everything will be absolutely fine."

Hermione gave a determined nod, reminding herself that the Malfoy she was remembering didn't exist, and then made her way purposefully to Slughorn's party. It really wasn't easy to repress her nerves, and they got exponentially worse the closer she made it to the party. When she was standing just outside, she thought she was going to bolt.

"Are you going in?" an amused voice asked from right behind her, practically whispering in her ear. She turned around quickly, blushing, and putting some distance between them, "yes," she finally said, looking at the stranger. He was tall, thin, with short brown hair. He looked, well, _twitchy_ was the best she could come up with.

"One of Slughorn's favourites?" he asked, smirking slightly. He unsettled her, there was something familiar about him, but still nothing she could place.

"Well, clearly you were too," she snapped back, opening the door and stepping into the party.

She walked away from the man as quickly as she possibly could, snatching a champagne flute on her way to the corner where she was planning on sulking until Lucius's arrival. She perked up a little every time the door opened, expecting to his his obnoxious blond hair. When he finally did come in, she smiled at him, only to be met with an incredulous look and an eye roll. He turned and walked the exact opposite direction of where she stood, going to greet Professor Slughorn.

She felt disproportionally crushed, and was fairly sure it was because he had an entirely valid reason to be angry with her.

"Jane Dagworth," he said, when he was finally alone long enough to approach him, "you know," he said, "if you didn't like me, _you could have just told me._ "

"I was confused," she said, planning on leaving it at that for half a second, before remembering Allie's insistence that she apologizes properly, "I like you...you just sort of reminded me of someone I hated, and I was having a bit of trouble keeping that separate," she cringed, "I am _really_ sorry."

"Alright," he said curtly, with a slight sneer in her direction, "I'll bear that in mind. Have a pleasant evening."

She watched him walk away, blinking back her humiliation. Hermione grabbed another champagne flute on her way back to the corner where she planned to wait for a socially acceptable time to leave.

By the time she finished it, she didn't care if it was socially acceptable or not, and after one more regretful look towards him, she slipped out of the room.

Back at the party, Slughorn saw his guest leave and felt the remainder of his plan crumble, but it was worth at least one last shot. Something a bit more direct this time.

"Lucius, my boy," he said, clasping Lucius on the arm, "what happened with Miss Dagworth? She looked upset."

"Nothing," he ground out, clearly not in the mood to have this discussion with his former head of house.

"I'm sorry I assumed anything," he said, affecting genuine regret, "I didn't mean to offend you by any implications. I'm probably reading things wrong, getting old, you know!" he chuckled, "She was probably trying to impress the Shacklebolt boy...never seen that girl get so dolled up...or look that nervous."

He took a sip of his brandy, held it up slightly, and shuffled away smiling to himself. Maybe that would get him to follow her out. If not, nothing was really lost, he supposed. After all, it was an endeavour born purely out of boredom.

He watched Lucius shuffle uncomfortably from the corner of his eye for a few seconds, and finally, the boy put down his glass of champagne, grabbing a bottle to replace it on his way out. Slughorn watched, thinking he should probably go retrieve the bottle.

Well, he finally decided, taking another sip of brandy, he should at least make sure Dumbledore didn't find out.

* * *

"Congratulations, Jane" Lucius smiled at her, handing her flowers, almost the moment she stepped off of the train.

"Hey, Malfoy," Emmeline said, making an effort to be cordial from beside Hermione.

"Vance," Malfoy drawled, nodding in her direction.

"I'll see you at Miranda's birthday next week," Hermione said, giving her least favourite friend a smile and a hug, "and good luck with auror training!"

"Thanks!" she smiled, her smile fading slightly, "I'll miss you… promise you'll owl?" Hermione was surprised by the request, but agreed. After another hug, they finally parted ways.

Lucius looked at her, clearly amused, "you don't like her," he observed, once they were well away from the platform.

"I like her well enough," she said, "I just think she has stupid ideas," she wasn't one to badmouth her friends, but in all fairness she'd had this very argument with Emmeline many times in person.

"How so?" Lucius's mouth twitched again into a smile, and she found herself glaring at him, not entirely pleased at his finding humour in this particular subject.

"Her best friend is muggle-born. She's adamant blood doesn't make a difference, but she's told me she would never marry a muggle-born."

"Ah," he said, a fair bit of amusement draining, "that is an...interesting stance to take."

"It's stupid," she said, refusing to drop it. She'd been under the impression that he was significantly more open minded as a teenager, but if that wasn't the case, then she wasn't leaving this platform with him.

"Jane," he said, his face carefully neutral, "muggle-borns and half-bloods have a place in Wizarding society...and there's nothing wrong with being friends with them, _I suppose_ , but would you really want someone like that as part of your family?"

"Someone like what, Malfoy, please tell me," she said, "why would it possibly matter?"

"It doesn't," he finally said, putting a hand around her waist and nodding towards the apparition point.

"Do you mean that?" she asked.

"Yes," he lied.

* * *

She twisted her wedding ring on her finger, digging the flesh of her thumb into the oversized diamond of the Malfoy heirloom. She watched Lucius take off his cloak and place it on the chair by the fireplace he'd just stepped through, like she'd seen him do thousands of times since they'd been married. Something was off today. He looked at her carefully before saying anything.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, wondering what could have possibly happened since he left the manor that morning that had him looking like he was about to vomit. He nodded, gesturing towards the couch grabbing her hand once they were seated. It felt like he was trying to keep her from running, and she frowned at him.

"I lied to you," he said after a little while, "a few months before we were engaged my father was threatening to draw up a marriage contract for me, so I told him I'd join his little _group_ if-"

"No," Hermione said, snatching her hand out of his.

"I didn't think he'd be involved in anything...I knew some of their views were radical…"

"But their leader isn't sane," Hermione said, she could feel herself start to cry.

"He's not," Lucius replied, "they bow to him, kiss the hem of his robes, call him the 'Dark Lord'..." Hermione knew this already, and she fought to swallow the bile that threatened to rise with her husband's confession. "You haven't been honest with me, either...you knew they were more than what they've looked like and I want to know _how_."

She stared at the fire in the fireplace for a while, trying to think of the best place to start. There wasn't a good place to start. "I was walking home one night," she took a breath, "it's really anticlimactic, actually, I was walking home from a coffee shop in muggle London, and I was ambushed by a man wearing a Death Eater mask and robes. He threw a few curses at me...I thought I was dead. Then, I woke up in the Department of Mysteries a handful of years before I'd ever been born...if I ever did know the details of what happened to me, they took them. They messed with my memories, gave me an identity, and told me to get on with my life."

"What's your real name?" he asked into her hair. He'd pulled her back to him sometime during the confession, splaying his hand possessively across her rounded stomach.

"Jane Malfoy," she said, "I can't tell you what it used to be, the Unspeakables thought it might be dangerous if people knew. They've cast charms, and curses...they thought I might need to tell someone about my travel here one day... _kind_ of them...but anything else I'm strictly forbidden from speaking of. Still, I haven't been _her_ in years. I'm Jane Malfoy, your wife..."

Lucius nodded, trying his best to control the anger he felt towards the ministry, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "it's okay," he said, "we'll leave the country...hide somewhere," she nodded into his chest, unsure if she was crying with relief at having told him, or with relief that he wanted to run away just as badly as she did.

* * *

Four steel chairs were arranged around a small, matching table in interrogation room five, and four men were there to the prisoner. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood, flanked by Auror Proudfoot and Trainee Aurors Potter and Weasley, while Lucius Malfoy was chained and warded into place across the table from them. Kingsley flinched when Malfoy's arm was yanked, hard, behind his back, but the prisoner made no particular protest. Malfoy simply glared at them all, with a sort of blanket look of loathing.

He pulled out a chair for himself, and noted that the man sitting across from him seemed very far removed from the boy he'd gone to school with, and even from the man he'd become over the years that followed. He looked ragged and weak, already, from his few months in Azkaban, and his face was harder to read than ever before.

"You've sent dozens of owls claiming that Hermione Granger's life was in danger," Kingsley started, "and sure enough...she's disappeared. Talk, Malfoy."

"Do you remember Jane Dagworth, Minister?" he asked, his tone deceptively polite while his eyes took on an even harder edge. Kingsley kept himself from squirming under the scrutiny, easily placing the name in his memory.

Jane was a close friend of his fellow Order members, Emmeline Vance and Miranda Webb, both of whom were killed during the first war. It ruffled more than a few feathers when they attended her wedding, Mad-Eye Moody being the most vocally against it. No Malfoy was ever to be trusted, he'd claimed. He'd seen Lucius and Jane at a distance in Diagon Alley in the years that followed, but could only remember seeing her up close again in the coroner's office at St Mungos, just as the political situation started to turn dangerous.

He could remember the funeral ceremonies on the Malfoy grounds as one of the tensest he'd ever witnessed. From the moment he arrived with Miranda and Emmeline, at Dumbledore's request to protect them, he'd been worried Allie Carrow or Lucius Malfoy might kill him on sight. Looking back, he could acknowledge that wearing his formal Auror robes was in poor taste when one considered the fate of the young Malfoy bride.

As the evening wore on, hissed comments between the Order girls and their former, living, friend were exchanged, culminating in a shouting match as the casket was lowered into the ground. It was a public secret that Jane Dagworth was not welcomed to the family with open arms, so he'd been surprised to see Mrs Malfoy approach them with red rimmed eyes.

Kingsley still heard the sharp cracking noise as the matron's hand connected with Miranda's cheek, and her scathing, sweeping look at the three of them.

"I won't have a Mudblood desecrating Jane's funeral," she'd said, before turning her attention to Kingsley, "I can see that you look surprised, Mister Shacklebolt, that I weep for my daughter and grandson. Whatever our differences were, they were between us and us alone. I beg you to leave while we mourn, and I promise the ministry will pay for this gross assault on our family."

He'd seen her tombstone when he returned to the manor after the war ended. He looked at where the young woman and her unborn child were buried in the family plot, represented by a beautiful, simple outline of a mother and her baby carved under the name Jane Malfoy and the words 'beloved wife, mother, and daughter'. He'd vanished the wilting flowers at its base, and moved back towards the main house, in more pain over the memory of Miranda being slapped by Mrs Malfoy than by his former classmate's death.

For the benefit of the younger generation, he turned to them and said, "she was Lucius Malfoy's first wife, a Ravenclaw in my year. She died quite young."

"Would you care to share why she 'died quite young'?"

Kingsley felt himself flinch. He didn't care to, as it was, but somehow felt he had no choice. It might have been a stretch, but he couldn't help think that Malfoy's shoulders were shaking with more than just anger. "She was killed in a duel with an auror, resisting arrest after the death of several Muggle-Born witches and wizards," Kingsley said, keeping all inflection from his voice.

"She had nothing to do with that, Shacklebolt," Lucius said, venom dripping from his carefully steady words "So forget your pathetic attempt to justify her death. An auror accidentally killed my pregnant wife, while trying to arrest her, the night before we planned to flee the country."

"You have to admit, it looked bad considering who she associated with," Kingsley said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead, regretting the meeting.

"I was barely a Death Eater until after she died, and she wasn't on speaking terms with my father."

"This has nothing to do with Hermione Granger's disappearance," Kingsley said, trying to steer the conversation back to where it needed to be.

"Unspeakables gave my wife an entirely new identity, Jane Dagworth. The ministry cursed Hermione Granger so she couldn't speak her real name, or the essentially worthless bits and pieces of the future she remembered. She had gaping holes in her memory...places, dates, names, from where the Unspeakables erased her memory of the future, or what had been her past. They cut up the entirety of her left forearm; Cursed scars from the Unspeakables covered cursed scars from Bellatrix. "

* * *

Lucius stood by his late wife's tombstone, bound in chains and guarded by aurors, powerless to change what was happening. In Godric's Hollow, he watched the Potter boy change the engraving to 'Hermione Granger, beloved friend and daughter', removing all traces of his marriage, their child, and his mother's tribute to her daughter-in-law.


End file.
